


Chairs Don't Talk

by evilwriter37



Series: Discord Whump Prompts [13]
Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Humiliation, Whipping, Whump, hiccup!whump, used as furniture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/pseuds/evilwriter37
Summary: Viggo decides to use Hiccup as furniture at one of his parties.
Series: Discord Whump Prompts [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504100
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	Chairs Don't Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: whumpee used as a piece of furniture

Hiccup’s limbs shook and his back ached. He’d never been in a position like this before, and he was surprised by how much it hurt. His joints were stressed and his muscles overworking themselves. He’d been holding this position for much too long. He released a groan, lowered himself a little bit. 

“Don’t falter,” Viggo ordered, swatting him on the ass with a riding crop. Earlier, those hits had almost made Hiccup lose his position, but now he was used to it. He was on his hands and knees with Viggo sitting on his back. He was a large man and his weight reflected that. Hiccup was just glad he wasn’t holding his brother Ryker. That would have snapped his back in two. He was lucky he was strong enough to hold Viggo… lucky being the operative word. This wasn’t lucky at all. Luck would have meant not being captured by Viggo Grimborn and forced to attend one of his parties in only a loincloth, and carry the man’s weight on his back. He was being used as a chair. A fucking chair. Viggo had made him well aware that it was an important party too, that men with a lot of money that Viggo wanted would be attending. Hiccup’s cheeks were constantly red in humiliation. He would have flung Viggo off his back and made a run for it, but he was chained where he was, and didn’t have his prosthetic. Besides, there were guards at every entrance to the pavilion, and Ryker was lurking around somewhere, acting like Viggo’s guard dog. 

“You know, maybe give me a break,” Hiccup said, voice strained. “Get up and mingle.”

“Chairs don’t talk,” Viggo chastised. 

“I’m not a chair.”

The riding crop smacked him again, and Hiccup merely grunted, teeth gritted against the pain. He was sure he was all red back there. 

“You are what I say you are,” Viggo told him. “And for now, that’s a chair.”

Still, that didn’t stop Viggo from reaching towards his head and running his hand through his hair like he was petting an animal. It made Hiccup burn with anger. There were all these people around that got to see how Viggo treated him, the heir of Berk. Some of these people probably knew who he was on sight, - having had dealings with Stoick - making the whole thing even more humiliating.

Hiccup tried to listen to the conversations that Viggo was having when people stepped up to him, but he was too focused on not falling. If he fell, he would humiliate both himself and Viggo, and bring worse punishment down upon himself. No, he couldn’t fall.

_ Just breathe _ , he told himself.  _ Breathe _ . 

Hiccup didn’t know how long he’d been holding Viggo for, but his muscles began to spasm, making him wince and moan. Viggo didn’t appear to care, or have even heard him. He just crossed his legs.

Hiccup’s breaths were harder to keep up with. He found himself puffing more than actually taking in deep ones. His chained wrists flashed pain through him, his shoulders throbbing. His knees and palms felt like they couldn’t take the ground anymore. 

Finally, someone tempted Viggo away from him. Hiccup couldn’t believe the amount of relief he felt when the man stood up off of him. He collapsed to the ground, panting, back screaming at him. He knew that if Viggo came back, he couldn’t take this again. Would his punishment for that be public or private?

The thought of public punishment made Hiccup even more angry, but he could do nothing. His chains held him, and even without the chains, he was now much too weak from holding Viggo up for such a long time. 

Hiccup looked as he heard heavy footsteps coming his way. His stomach clenched when he saw that it was Ryker. 

“Get tired of being my brother’s chair?” he asked tauntingly. 

“Go away,” Hiccup groaned. 

For that, he received a kick squarely in the ribs. He yelped, but couldn’t move to grab at the site, muscles protesting any movement. He just laid there, beginning to feel cold now that he wasn’t overexerting himself any longer. He needed clothing, a blanket,  _ something _ other than this cursed loincloth! 

“Ryker, don’t kick the furniture. It’s childish,” came Viggo’s cool voice from behind his brother. Ryker turned to look, growled a bit, but then sulked away without a word.

Viggo looked around as if he didn’t see Hiccup. “Now, I thought I left a chair here.”

Recognizing that as an order, Hiccup tried his best to get up. He really did, but he fell the instant he was on his hands and knees. 

“Can’t,” he gasped. 

“Well, then where am I going to sit?”

“Go get a real chair, you lazy ass.” Hiccup didn’t know where the words came from. They just spouted from his mouth. Once they were out, Hiccup realized he had made a huge mistake. 

Viggo said nothing, just looked at him grimly. Then he was leaving, and Hiccup was sure it was to get a whip or some other weapon. The riding crop wouldn’t be fit for such punishment. He’d messed up. He’d messed up bad. He shouldn’t have said anything and should have just gotten on his hands and knees like he was supposed to.

So far in his captivity, Hiccup had escaped worse punishment. He’d taken a beating or two from Ryker, but never any that broke bones or drew blood. And Viggo made sure to hit him with things or in ways that didn’t leave marks for too long, as if he was preserving his body. But surely now, Viggo couldn’t let him get away with such things in public. Blood was going to be drawn. He knew it. 

Familiar footsteps, then: “You know, you really ought to have kept your mouth shut like I told you to.”

Hiccup looked up from under his hair, saw Viggo standing in front of him with a whip in hand. Wanting to save himself from punishment, he tried getting on his hands and knees again. When he did, Viggo grabbed him by the hair, twisted him around to face the party, and forced him onto his knees.

“There.” He trailed his fingers through a lock of hair. “Now everyone will get to see you suffer.”

Part of Hiccup wanted to ask him,  _ beg  _ him, not to do this, but he wouldn’t. He’d said what he said, and he’d look weak if he backed out of it now. He had no choice. 

The whip snapped through the air and Hiccup grunted at the first hit and draw of blood. He didn’t want to scream. Not in front of all these people. He tightly clenched his jaw.

Another hit, more blood across his back, another grunt. Hiccup stoically stared straight ahead,  _ through  _ the people watching him. He didn’t want to see them watching this, so he simply didn’t. 

Viggo hit him harder with the third lashing, working his mouth open in a yell. Hiccup hadn’t wanted to do that, but now that his mouth was open, he couldn’t stop himself. With each hit that came, he cried out. He could feel the blood trickling down his back, soaking the loincloth with red. 

Hiccup counted how many times Viggo hit him. Only ten. Hiccup didn’t think that, at the moment, he could suffer more than that. Maybe in private, but not here at a public party. 

Viggo left, came back with a servant (or a slave) carrying a real, wooden chair behind him. The man placed it down next to Hiccup and Viggo sat and shooed him away. Hiccup just knelt there, ankle and wrists chained, blood dripping down his back, pain burning through him. He didn’t look at Viggo, just lowered his head, feeling the humiliation from being publicly punished coming on. Bruises were forming along his ribs where Ryker had kicked him.

Viggo rapped his knuckles against the wood of the chair. “See, Hiccup, my dear? Chairs don’t talk.”


End file.
